


Russian Spring

by Mrs_Spooky



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8135539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Spooky/pseuds/Mrs_Spooky
Summary: Something's bothering Illya and Napoleon wants to help him with it.





	

It was a bright, crisp, spring morning in New York City as Napoleon Solo pulled his car over to the curb in front of Del Floria’s.  He got out, breathing in the chilly morning air that smelled of city with a hint of new growth. It was a great day to be alive!

He was allowed into the secret entrance in the back of the tailor shop and bounced through reception to make his way to the office he shared with his partner.  He was not surprised to find his partner was already there with a pot of coffee made and half consumed.  It looked like he had been there for hours. 

Illya was just hanging up his phone as he entered.  He returned Napoleon’s greeting as he went back to the reports he was reading.

“So, how was the concert last night?” Napoleon asked, pouring his coffee. “Stravinski, wasn’t it?”

“Fine. It was fine,” Illya answered absently. 

Napoleon put down his coffee cup and stared hard at his partner. ‘Fine?’ Illya had been looking forward to that show for over a month and all he had to say was ‘fine?’  That’s when he noticed that the set of his friend’s shoulders was wrong, his face too carefully blank.  These were changes only Napoleon would have detected, and he concluded that something was very wrong. 

“ ‘Fine,’ that’s it?” Napoleon asked. “You’ve been looking forward to this concert for weeks and it’s just ‘fine’?”  Illya still wasn’t looking at him. “Did you even go to the concert?” Napoleon asked almost gently.  

Something was bothering his friend and he was going to get to the bottom of it.  Not only was he concerned for his partner - what hurt Illya hurt him too - he didn’t want Illya in the field if he is going to be so distracted. As much as Illya liked to be machine-like with laser-tight focus, Napoleon knew that he IS a human and that he has a heart.  Hearts can be broken.

Illya sighed with some annoyance.  He feared Napoleon would notice and found himself wishing he HAD taken the day off like he had planned.  He did NOT want to talk about it.

“I didn’t go,” Illya admitted finally. “I gave my ticket to Cronin. I was supposed to go with Sharmila from Operations but she went with Cronin instead.”

Napoleon waited for the rest of the story.  Illya glanced over at him, “That is all.”

Illya’s phone rang as Napoleon opened his mouth, interrupting his next question.  Illya answered on the first ring and listened for almost three minutes. He responded in rapid-fire Russian, all Napoleon could make out was “well that’s it then.”  He thanked the caller, saying they’d speak again and hung up.  He got up from his desk and headed to the door.

“Wait, where ya goin’?” Napoleon asked.  He wasn’t done yet.

Illya half turned, “To the toilet.  I don’t believe I’ll require any assistance.” And with that he was gone.

 

***

 

Napoleon waited nearly an hour for Illya to return. Frustrated, he pulled out his communicator to try to reach him, only to hear the device beeping from under some papers on his desk. Frustration turned to alarm at Illya’s uncharacteristic lapses and he started calling various departments where Illya was known to frequent, all of which reported not seeing him that day, a few in fact had things they needed to discuss with him.  Napoleon assured them all was well and that he would find him.

Alarmed and annoyed, Napoleon headed to Waverly’s office.  Now he was certain that Illya should not be sent out on an assigment until he was over whatever it was that was apparently bothering him.  He stopped by Lisa Roger’s station to be told that she hadn’t seen Illya either. She confirmed that Waverly didn’t have anything on his schedule and was indeed in his office so was free to talk.  Thanking her, Napoleon strode to Waverly’s office, the door hissing closed behind him.

“Ah Mister Solo.  Good morning. Would you have some coffee?”  Waverly held out the pot he was holding, having just finished pouring his own.  Napoleon waved it off with a “No. Thank you, sir.”

Napoleon sat near his boss who took his seat behind a stack of newspapers, “Sir, it’s about Illya.”

_Of course it is,_ Waverly thought. _That didn’t take long_. “I can see you are concerned about something.”  He sat back and waited.

“Well sir, this is aah, hard to explain, but he was a bit ‘off’ this morning.” A raised eyebrow from Waverly greeted that statement. “I mean ‘off’ for him.”  He described Illya’s behavior that morning.  Most concerning to him was his missing that anticipated Stravinsky concert the night before and not bringing his communicator with him when he left the office.

“And you believe Mister Kuryakin should not be sent out on assignment for the time being,” Waverly jumped right to the point.

“Yes sir. I don’t know what’s going on with him but he should be given time off until he’s over it, whatever it is. Aaaand, you don’t seem surprised about any of this.”

Waverly sighed.  “I am not. Mister Solo, none of what I am about to tell you is to leave this room. I only share this with you because you are Chief Enforcement Agent who is responsible for him, and you are his friend and partner. There is no telling when he’ll get around to telling you if he tells you at all.”

“Tell me what, sir?”

“Mister Kuryakin is unaware of the fact that I chat frequently with his commanding officer.  Vasily and I have become quite friendly. He keeps me abreast of conditions in the Soviet Union and I report regularly on Mister Kuryakin’s performance in the field.  They are quite proud of him, you know,” he remarked, showing a bit of that pride himself.

“Of course,” Napoleon smiled.  How could they NOT be?

“Two days ago, Vasily - Vice Admiral Vasily Krupin, to be specific - informed me that Mister Kuryakin’s wife and young daughter have gone missing.  Mister Kuryakin DID tell you he was married and a father, did he not?”

Napoleon’s head was swimming, “He did sir. He mentioned it once then made it clear he did not want to talk about it again.  Missing?”

Waverly nodded gravely, “They had left their home two days prior, presumably to do a bit of grocery shopping.  Nobody has seen them since. Vasily reports that a search needs to be done discretely, as they could have been taken by the KGB and it would not serve anyone’s interest to express too much curiosity. He reports too what he calls ‘disturbing activity’ by that agency but didn’t elaborate. It’s not a stretch to assume there is another purge in the planning stage. Krupin also put forth the possibility that they may be trying to leave the country.  If that was the case, inquiries would bring them to the attention of the KGB and if caught, they would be killed.”

Napoleon sat numbly, absorbing this information. The pit in his stomach grew. “Maybe I will have that coffee,” he stated as he headed for the pot.  Waverly grunted sympathetically, reaching for his pipe.

“Yes, most alarming. A few folks in the Navy have been keeping tabs on them for him, reporting directly to Krupin. After two days he alerted Mister Kuryakin then myself, and you know the rest.”

“You know, he had just hung up the phone when I got in this morning, then another call came in for him just before he left the office,” Napoleon remembered.

“He must have received new information,” Wavery surmised.  “I suspect I shall be getting a call soon, myself.”

Napoleon sipped his coffee without tasting it, not surprised that it failed to fill the hollow feeling in his stomach. Just having something to do with his hands helped a little.

Waverly poked a button on the console in front of him, “Miss Rogers, has Mister Kuryakin left the building?”

There was a moment’s pause, “No sir, there are no reports of his leaving.  Problem sir?”

“No, problems. Can you tell me where he is located now? 

There was another moment’s pause, “His latest badge read is the roof.  He’s been there for quite a while. Did you need me to contact him?

“No thank you. That will be all.”  He disconnected then turned to Napoleon. “I don’t suspect there is anything to worry about, given his location.”

“I don’t think so either, but I am going to talk to him,” he agreed, leaving his chair.  “Thank you for the coffee,” he called out over his shoulder as he quickly left.

 

***

 

 Napoleon rode the elevator up to the roof.  Cautiously, helooked left and right and found no sign of Illya. Frowning, he stepped out to let the door close behind him and started walking.  Illya wasn’t interested in being quickly found, so he would be as far from the elevator as he could get, which could be the equivalent of the other side of the block.  There wasn’t much to block the wind up here and indeed, a stiff breeze had picked up, the chill offsetting the warmth of the sun.  He kept walking the perimeter until he saw him.  Illya was standing at the edge of the building, leaning on his hands that were resting on the waist high retaining wall around the edge. The wind was blowing his unbuttoned jacket, his golden blond hair flying back from his face.  

Napoleon sighed and approached, stopping behind him.

“Took you long enough,” Illya told him without turning around. 

“I didn’t know you were here.  I just came for this view of the United Nations building,” Napoleon retorted. “You forgot something,” he said as he pulled Illyas communicator out of his pocket.  Illya took it wordlessly and stuck it into his breast pocket then went back to his looking at whatever it was he was looking at.

Illya sighed. “You came here to talk.”  He glanced back at his friend, “And you already know what this is about.”

“How did you know?” Napoleon answered, surprised.

“I didn’t, that was a guess. You were talking to Mister Waverly about me then.”

Napoleon, not wanting to betray a confidence any more than he already had, just said “Nice view.”  He stepped forward to stand close to Illya, resting his own hands on the wall.

“I already know Vice Admiral Krupin is talking with Mister Waverly.  I’m probably not supposed to know, but it’s not particularly state secret.  Of course he’s going to check up on my performance while I’m here.  He’s been keeping me up to date on what’s happening with my family, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he also told Mister Waverly.”  He turned towards Napoleon, resting elbow on retaining wall, “And Mister Waverly told you.  I’m fairly certain you both want to keep me out of the field until I’ve dealt with all of this.” 

Napoleon decided it was no use trying to hide it from Illya.  He couldn’t hide anything from his partner, just like Illya couldn’t hide anything from him.

He didn’t have to tell his partner that his own heart was breaking because Illya could read it in his eyes.  “We could launch a rescue mission.  You and me.  I’ll take some time off and we can go there and find them, bring them out.  I know we could come up with a plan.”

Illya gazed at him briefly, half smile flickering over his face then looked away.  It took him a long time to answer, then finally, “Those calls this morning were from Krupin. One of the politburo members who had approved my assignment to UNCLE got word that the KGB did indeed pick them up. Ana had unknowingly struck up a friendship with a dissident. Dissident was with Ana and Katya when he was arrested so all were taken. Sometimes they’re sent to prison or gulag. The lucky ones are shot. Ana and her dissident friend were lucky. Katya… I don’t know. She is young enough that she will most likely be raised by the state and watched very closely.”

“Illya, I…” Napoleon started, choking up.

“Ana was a devout party member,” Illya continued bitterly.  “I thought she and Katya would be safe.  I didn’t count on her getting careless.”

“You don’t want to try to find her? Katya?”

“I do, very much. But Soviet Union is huge, she could be anywhere by now. I have no idea who I could trust to help. Those who I believe CAN be trusted would risk everything by asking questions. There has been a change in leadership there and it’s possible another purge is on its way. There is no way to tell which direction the winds will be blowing and who will be purged and who will not. How can I ask someone to risk their lives and their family’s lives if they were to be otherwise out of danger? Say nothing, don’t show your true feelings. That’s how you survive.”

“That’s a terrible way to live,” Napoleon said finally.

“They know nothing else. I knew nothing else until I attended school in France.”

Napoleon noticed that the tip of Illya’s nose and his cheeks were bright red and guessed his were the same. “What do you say we go inside.  Get some tea, maybe some lunch.”

Illya then realized it was freezing up there.  The noonday sun was now hidden behind a bank of clouds, removing the last vestiges of warmth. He was feeling the cold, and Napoleon’s lips were turning purple, yet he looked ready to stand there with him until both were frozen into solid chunks of ice.   All his life, Illya grew up being taught not to trust, not to say anything to anyone lest they turn on you or turn out to be untrustworthy.  He never had that worry with Napoleon, but to his regret, a lifetime of training was hard to undo. 

He nodded and moved away from the wall. Napoleon suddenly stepped in and wrapped his arms tightly around him in an embrace.  “Illya, I’m so sorry,” he whispered into his hair. Illya’s own throat was tight.  He briefly embraced Napoleon with a nod.  The two walked wordlessly towards the elevator entrance near the helipad on the roof and headed down together to their office.

 

***

 

Waverly disconnected somberly from his call and sat still for a full minute. Vice Admiral Vasily Krupin had delivered the news about Illya’s family and stated that this will very likely be the last call they would have.  There might be a call later but there were no guarantees.  Things were that bad.  Krupin didn’t say it in so many words, but Waverly could tell that he was as happy Illya was in the United States with UNCLE as Waverly was.  Krupin was as fond of Illya as he knew Waverly was and was positive that the young lieutenant he sent them was the best example of what the Soviet system could produce.  Waverly had to admit the young man was formidable and the thought of an army of Illyas was terrifying. He suspected Illya was just exceptional, but there were to be no doubts about the strength of Russian will and effectiveness of Soviet training.

He shook himself and rang his assistant. “Miss Rogers, has Mister Kuryakin moved from his previous location?”

After a moment she responded, “Yes sir.  He’s in his office with Mister Solo. Did you want them to come to your office?”

Waverly nodded in relief, “No. Thank you, Miss Rogers, that will be all.”

 

***

 

Napoleon had ordered lunch and tea to be sent up to his office.  Illya wanted to get back to work and Napoleon knew it would be the best thing for him.  They finished up the report on the field agent trainees that they had worked with.  Napoleon was pleased that Illya was once again focused on the job even though he knew he was still going to need time, even if Illya denied it.  Illya was NOT a machine, but a man with a heart that could be broken, no matter how difficult he tried to make it.  The report handed off to his secretary for typing, Napoleon sat back in his chair and picked at the remains of his lunch.  

Illya had opened a world news magazine and was perusing its contents. Napoleon knew his partner would eventually want to try to find his daughter and he would be there with him to help. Who knew how the political tides would change within the Soviet Union or where the shifting leadership would take it.  Maybe one day Illya would get to meet up with his child and finally have the opportunity to be her dad.  Napoleon himself wanted very much to meet her.

Illya spoke up suddenly, “There is a joke.”

“A joke?” Napoleon raised his eyebrows munching on a french fry, looking curiously at his friend. This was unexpected.

“A joke,” Illya repeated.  “It goes like this:

 

> So Stalin wakes up in the morning and goes out on his balcony. "Good morning comrade Sun," he says.
> 
> The Sun says, "good morning comrade Stalin, I trust you slept well."
> 
> After lunch, Stalin goes for a walk. "Good day, comrade Sun," he says.
> 
> The Sun says, "good day, comrade Stalin. I hope the day is going well for you."
> 
> At sunset, Stalin goes out and and says, "good evening, comrade Sun."
> 
> Nothing.
> 
> Annoyed, Stalin says, "I _said_ good evening comrade Sun!"
> 
> The Sun replies, "fuck you! I'm in the west now!"

 

 

Napoleon laughed. “Is that even allowed?”

“No,” Illya chuckled. “You have to be careful who you tell that to.”

Napoleon understood and smiled.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place roughly a month before the events in my fic, Kind of Blue.


End file.
